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“Shit, shit, shit,” she chanted, her head flailed back and forth on the desk. Papers scattered to the floor. Her fingers curled around the edge of the desk and I was there through all of it, making her fly higher than she thought possible and bringing her down. I rode every wave with her, and it was one hell of an amazing ride.

Beautiful. Rebecca’s orgasms were pure and unfiltered, wild and desperate like she’d never been touched the way I went at her, and thank God. There was nothing I enjoyed more than giving women pleasure in ways they hadn’t experienced. Plus, she’d just shown me she didn’t mind some ass play. Which we’d definitely be exploring.

She went limp on my desk and I slowly moved away from her. I peppered her inner thighs with gentle kisses and reached for tissues inside a drawer of my desk. I wiped her, cleaned off my hands, and readjusted my dick still fighting for its own taste of her, before I stood up.

I rested a hand next to her head and leaned over her.

“You doing okay?”

“Dying. I’m dying. I don’t think I can work today on account of my death.”

Laughing, I bent over her and kissed her softly. “That’s too bad. I was hoping we could do more of that later.”

I slid my hand beneath her neck and grabbed onto her other hand, bringing her up until she was sitting. Her legs still spread wide, I stood between them, enjoying the view of her messed up hair, smudged cheeks from her mascara and dried tears on her face. I handed her another tissue and rubbed beneath her eyes. “Your mascara ran.”

Her hands went to her hair, smoothing back the shining locks. “I’m probably a complete mess.”

“You’re beautiful, but you will need to go get cleaned up.”

She held out her hand. “Can I have my underwear?”

They were on the floor at the side of my desk, right where she’d left them. Nope. I shook my head.

Her light brown eyes widened in disbelief. “No? I can’t wear them?”

“Remember when I said I like keeping you off-balance? That glare you’re shooting my way right now turns me on. I like the idea of you naked beneath that sexy skirt you’re wearing. I like the idea of you fighting going wet when you have to sit there, all day, doing my work, thinking of me.”

Her nose crinkled and I tapped it. “Do I have to?”

“No. You can ask me why I want it. You can ask me for an alternative, or you can disobey and earn your first punishment which I’ll deliver later night.” She opened her mouth but I stopped her by holding up a finger. “But be warned, that spanking you got on New Years was for the purpose of turning you on, not punishing. Think long and hard before deciding you’re ready for something more.”

“Why do you want me to not wear them?”

I wasn’t surprised when she went with option one. I’d intentionally created our contract knowing her hesitancy, and later, we’d be talking about her past and how that could affect our playtime. But I wanted her relaxed before I took her there. I also wanted her wet and needing me, focused on my desires and not her fears.

“I already explained, why, but also because it pleases me. Today, instead of thinking about how embarrassed you might be by not wearing underwear, can you instead think of how happy it makes me to know your pussy is ready for me whenever I want it?”

“You always make this sound so damn rational,” she grumbled.

I stepped back so she could get off the desk. She adjusted her skirt, smoothed down her shirt and glared at her red panties on the carpet.

“I told you before it doesn’t have to be difficult.” She stepped around me and I reached for her, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her back to my chest. “Do you have something to say to your Dom, sub?”

“Thank you for the orgasm, sir.”

“Thank you for pleasing me, Rebecca. I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t regret it. You have my word.”

I kissed her throat. Goose bumps spread in my wake, and I let her go.

“Now go get cleaned up. We have a busy day today and neither of us will be working late tonight.”

She spun out of my hold. “We’re not?”

“No. I’m taking you to dinner where we’ll talk, and then I’m taking you to my home so I can fuck you.”

* * *

We were tucked into a back booth at Boondox, a sports bar I frequented with some buddies of mine when we wanted a drink or two or had the urge to shout at one of the thirty televisions always playing sports. When we entered, Rebecca’s eyes had widened, as if surprised I’d bring her to someplace so laid-back and basic. Which was exactly why we were eating there. She thought I was some stuck up arrogant asshole who dressed in designer suits and my life was filled with five-star restaurants and two hundred dollar bottles of whiskey. That was definitely a part of it, mostly for business purposes. To be successful, you had to surround yourself with successful people and I worked a charity gala just as easily as I worked a place like Boondox where they encouraged tossing empty peanut shells to the floor.